Exotic Devastation
by writergal0
Summary: April 1905. After Annabeth Chase and her father move to Panama for her father's job working on the construction of the Panama Canal, Annabeth is exposed to a series of events that will both break her heart and tarnish her reputation. Months later, she writes a letter of appeal in an attempt to reconstruct her life. Percabeth AU meeting.


**A/N: Hey, there! Here's a one-shot of a Percabeth meeting, made in letter format. The style of writing isn't polished; it's more raw, to enhance an actual character writing a letter. Review and let me know how it ends up!**

 **Rating: T**

* * *

"EXOTIC DEVASTATION"

 _April 8, 1905_

LAST OCTOBER, MY daddy uprooted us from our cozy home in Myrtlewood, California, and plopped us down in hell.

Daddy hadn't known it would be hell. He'd been excited about the move. "We're goin' somewhere _exotic,_ " he'd said, a boyish grin creeping across his face. Daddy was always smart, but he never got a whole lot of schooling. He'd seen the word _exotic_ on an advertisement poster for The Project and for some reason, it stuck like a burr. It was always _exotic,_ never third-world, underdeveloped, or drowning in poverty. _Exotic._ I had to admit, it sounded better than the truth. It conjured up images of animals you only saw in books, the thick, heavy kind the librarians at school didn't let you take home. I'd sometimes apply it to the bad things that happened later. Anything bad or upsetting that happened in Panama was just _exotic._ Exotic devastation. Exotic death. My exotic broken heart.

I hadn't been excited about the move. In fact, I'd been dreading it. I'd lived in Myrtlewood all my sixteen years. Sure, it was the armpit of California – we were mostly a town made of lumberjacks, their wives, and the kids that'd grow up to be the next generation of wives or lumberjacks. All my life, we seemed to be running out of everything but wood. I'd be hungry after not eating for two days, I'd be wearing too-small secondhand clothes, I'd be using pencils until they got down to the little eraser nubs, but we'd have a stockpile of logs outside our cruddy little one-floor house a mile high.

But ever since Mama ran away with the postage man, Daddy'd been real depressed. I didn't see why – I never liked Mama much; she always gave me lots of spankings and complained about everything from our spider infestation to the blister on her big toe. All she ever seemed to do was whine. But for some reason, Daddy took her up and leaving real hard. For days, he'd holed up in his room and cried, least 'til there was no more to eat and I was going to school hungry.

I didn't know how Daddy got the job working on the Panama Canal. All I knew was Mr. President Roosevelt was trying to make a big river. Why he had to make a big river, I'd never know. I'd always thought there were plenty of rivers, least where I was from. Anyway, about a month after Mama left with the postage man, Daddy went and moved us all the way down to Central America, which, I knew now, was hell.

At first it was exciting – everything from the people to the places had fancy names, like Panama and Baldomero. The plants were awful pretty, with flowers colors I hadn't even known existed. Back home in Myrtlewood, there was mostly just big trees and some ugly bushes.

It was a small condolence. Even though I was living in hell, it looked nice, at least from the outside.

And then people started dropping like flies.

No one knew why. Some said the yellow fever, some said malaria, some said heat stroke. Mostly all I knew was that I'd seen people die before – just the year before, two kids got trapped in a snowstorm and starved to death – but I'd never seen people die like _this._ Not so many, not all at once.

I didn't know why I got the job at a hospital. I dropped out of school – what you needed to survive in hell wasn't in any book, I'd learned. Then I got a job as a nurse. I'd seen so many people die in the past month, I didn't want to stand back anymore.

Now, all this has a point, I swear. Daddy moving to Panama changed my life. But there's another part to the story – something much bigger that changed my life. It was _him._

The morning I met him was like any other morning. I'd woken up at the crack of dawn, right with Daddy, and gotten dressed in my uniform. The sun had already been bright and high in the sky, and I was sweating by the time I walked a mile to the infirmary.

By then I was used to the rows and rows of men, all stretched out on cots. They were all sweaty, most of them near death. There wasn't much I could do to help them survive. Mostly all I could do was make their road to death a little easier, say a few prayers, that kind of thing. They'd already seen hell; I wanted to make sure they got to spend eternity up in heaven.

I'd been tired and about to pass out from the heat, cursing Panama and my daddy for all they were worth. It wasn't the sort of day any girl would expect to change her life.

"Hey, there."

Those were the two words I remembered more than anything else. _Hey, there._ They came from a boy about my age, just standing in the middle of the infirmary. One of the older doctors was yelling at him, but he just stood there and smiled at me.

He was a pretty boy, I'd give him that – he had the sort of smile that made my knees turn to jelly and make my insides all gooey. His eyes were green as the leaves on the trees back home in Myrtlewood, his skin was hardened by windburn and tanned by the sun. His hands were calloused, his teeth unnervingly white, his hair sticking up on end. He had the look of a sailor down by the docks.

I'd looked behind me. I'd looked to the right. I'd looked to the left. It seemed he was talking – no, _flirting_ – with me, right when a doctor was about to tan his hide.

"What?" I'd said stupidly.

He'd given me that smile again and walked away from the doctor. The doctor had looked kind of surprised, like most people didn't run away from him much. The boy had knelt down on the ground, and all of a sudden, I realized my hat had gone away with the wind. "Here," he'd said, holding out the hat, as an offering to me.

"Uh, thanks," I'd said, taking the hat and putting it back on my head.

"The name's Percy," he'd said, sticking his hand out. I'd shaken it. It was rough, but in a nice way. My hands were the same way. I'd read once in an old novel that girls with scarred hands were unladylike, but I didn't see the point of that. Rough hands meant hard work, and the girls that were willing to work were the ones that boys should be willing to work _for._

"My name's Annabeth," I'd said, smiling.

And that's where it all started.

Now, you probably know the rest – most everybody in Panama does. That boy with the smile that made me melt took my virtue and my good reputation. He got me pregnant, but before either of us knew my life was about to change, he died in a shipwreck. He took my heart with him.

You probably know what happened next – Daddy found out I was pregnant and threw me outta the house, calling me all sorts of nasty names 'cause I threw everything away before marriage. I was starving on the streets 'til Percy's momma took me and my unborn baby in out of the goodness of her heart.

You probably know why I'm writing this. I've done and lived nineteen years of my damn life, and I got nothing to show for it except my broken heart and my baby. I wanna make something of myself. I know I can. I'm a damn good student and though I know I'm older than most of the people in your school, I can learn just as good as they can.

I want to finish the education I started and get myself out of Panama. My daddy brought me to hell, but I'm gonna get me and my baby out if it kills me.

Here's the thing – I love my baby. I love him so much that I'm not gonna let my broken heart hold me back. I need a second chance. I know most people don't wanna give me a second change on account of they think I'm gonna tarnish their virtue, but I don't buy into that. Please, Headmaster Alvarez, let me enroll in your school. Let me prove myself. I've got a life of mistakes to make up for.

So I'm gonna close this letter with a plea: I know I made mistakes. I know I'm a stupid girl. But please, _please_ give me a second chance. If not for me, than for my baby.

Sincerely,

 _Annabeth Chase_

* * *

 _April 12, Year of Our Lord 1905_

 _Miss Chase;_

 _You begin class next Monday. Bring a pencil._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Headmaster Alvarez_

 _Post Script – I am granting you a second chance. Do not waste it._

* * *

 _April 14, 1905_

I won't. Promise.

Sincerely,

 _Annabeth Chase_

* * *

 **A/N: Please review! Let me know what you think!**


End file.
